


Shadows on the Ceiling

by Madame (McKay)



Series: The Monkees Soap Opera [10]
Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/Madame
Summary: After spending the Christmas holidays with her grandmother, Isabel returns home just in time to share Mike's (and her own) birthday with him. But the unexpected reunion leads her to make a decision that will change their relationship forever.





	Shadows on the Ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 1998.

**December 30, 1967**

Anticipation knotted in Isabel's stomach as she listened to the monotonous ring on the other end of the line and waited for someone to pick up; she shifted from one foot to the other, flapping one hand at the wrist impatiently as she muttered, "Come on! Hurry up!"

But seven rings later, she was still waiting, and she shook her head, deciding they must have gone out for the night. Releasing an aggravated breath, she scowled and was about to hang up when suddenly a familiar--and slightly breathless--voice shouted in her ear, making her wince.

"Ello?" Davy repeated, and she could hear laughter, conversation and music in the background; the sound was muted to her, filtered and watered down by the phone line, but there at the Pad the combination was probably deafening.

"Davy! It's Isabel!" she replied, raising her voice so he could hear her over the din.

"Ello, luv! Mike's been 'oping you'd call," he told her.

"I tried earlier but no one was around."

"Yeah, Micky and Petah ran me'n Mike off while they decorated, and they were gone for a while getting supplies," he explained.

"Well, happy birthday," she said warmly. "Congrats on finally getting out of your teens."

"Thanks!" he chuckled. "One more year, and I'll be legal. 'Ang on a minute, and I'll get Mike for you, all right?" His voice withdrew from the receiver, but she could hear him loud and clear nonetheless. "Shut up, will you! Turn off the jukebox half a sec--Mike's got an important call! MIKE! PHONE! IT'S ISABEL!"

She grimaced and held the receiver a little away to keep her eardrum from rupturing, but after that, she feared it was too late. Fortunately, Davy's drill sergeant tactics worked; the noise from the crowd diminished considerably, and the music suddenly cut off mid-"oo, baby." A moment later, she heard Mike's soft, "Thanks for announcin it to the whole room" as he took the phone, followed by Davy's receding laughter.

"Hey, girl." A simple greeting, but his voice conveyed a world of affection to her waiting ears, and she found herself clutching the receiver tighter as if that would somehow lessen the distance between them.

She closed her eyes, picturing the expression which invariably accompanied that particular tone--the tiny smile, the rare openness, the fondness in his eyes, all directed at her.

"Hey yourself," she replied calmly, unable to keep a goofy smile from tugging at her lips despite her best efforts. It felt ridiculously good to hear his voice. "Happy birthday. Having a good time?"

"It's all right," he replied. "At least they warned me ahead of time."

She laughed, remembering the year before when Micky and Peter had decided to throw him and Davy a surprise birthday party which Davy had really dug, but _Mike_ on the other hand...Well, they had all learned a valuable lesson in not springing surprises on young Mr. Nesmith.

"Wish you were here, though," he added, and she felt a warm glow burst in her heart and spread throughout her entire body at his quiet words.

"Me too," she replied, tears stinging her eyelids. She had agreed to spend the holidays with Gram--one small step on the road to full reconciliation--but it meant she and Mike were apart on not only on Christmas but also on both his birthday and hers. "Did you open my present?" Since she couldn't be with him, she'd left her gift--a black nehru shirt--with a note that said he didn't have to wait until her return to open it.

"Yeah." His low chuckle brushed past her ear like dark velvet, sending a delicious shudder down her spine. "The gift that keeps on givin, huh?" he teased, knowing the delight she took in seeing him wear black.

"Something like that," she replied saucily. "You like it?"

"Yep--and you can give me your opinion on it when you get home." 

Home. Yes, she would be returning home when she left here and went back to her tiny house on Beechwood. Most people would probably say that she ought to consider her grandmother's estate where she'd grown up as home, but this house--as beautiful and stately as it was--meant nothing to her. There was no warmth and laughter here, and there never had been.

She loved Gram dearly, but being away--living on Beechwood--had broadened her definition of "family" considerably. It need not be limited to ties of birth and blood; more often than not, the strongest bonds were those forged in the heart. Like those she shared with the four young men who lived next door.

And if she were completely honest, she would have to admit that of late, "home" to her meant where Mike was.

"Four days," she reminded him, forcing herself to keep her tone light. She didn't want to bring either of them down, especially not on his birthday.

"Well, hurry up every chance you get," he replied. "Those two hairballs of yours miss you, and if you don't get back soon, I think Gil's gonna start takin it out on the furniture."

"Oh, and how do you know they miss me?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

"All Rosen wants to do is run into your bedroom and curl up on your pillow, and Gil's just plain sulkin. He won't even let Mags pick him up anymore. _I'm_ the only one he'll let near him."

"Well, tell them their Mummy misses them too," she cooed, knowing his response would be exactly what it was.

"I am _not_ tellin them anything of the kind."

She let loose peals of delighted laughter at that, ignoring his grumbling, but when her mirth finally subsided, she gave a regretful sigh.

"I suppose I'd better go," she told him ruefully. "I don't want to run up Gram's bill too high."

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"Oh, you don't have to--"

"It's your birthday," he interrupted in his firmest no-nonsense tone, and that was an end to it.

She hesitated, wanting to protest; they were on a tight budget, and she knew their meager funds probably would be stretched to the limit by a long-distance call, but suggesting that he call collect was out of the question--she knew his pride would never allow that--so it was either give in or not talk to him, and she didn't even think twice about _that_ decision. After eight days' absence--the longest time they'd ever spent apart--with minimal contact, she wasn't inclined to argue.

"Okay," she conceded. "I'll talk to you tomorrow then."

"Okay."

There was a prolonged silence, and she got the feeling they were both waiting for the other to speak the final words of good-bye, both of them perhaps trying to prolong the inevitable. It was what _she_ was doing anyway, and he certainly wasn't pushing to get off the phone.

"Well..." she said softly. "Good night."

"Night, Isa," he replied just as softly. "Four days."

"Yep." And then she waited until she heard the click on the other end of the line that meant he was really gone before she reluctantly lowered the receiver and placed it back in its cradle.

"You miss that boy, don't you?"

Isabel whirled around, one hand flying to her chest, the other to her mouth to hold back the startled cry that sprang to her lips at the unexpected intrusion.

"Gram!" she exclaimed when she saw her grandmother poised in the doorway, both hands neatly folded in front of her as she regarded her grand-daughter with a solemn, piercing gaze. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know what I'm keeping you from," came the noncommittal reply, and Isabel felt a dull heat rushing to her cheeks. Despite the grudging _detante_ that had been established between Mike and Gram, she still didn't feel comfortable talking about him with Gram; she may have accepted his presence in Isabel's life as an irrefutable fact, but that was a far cry from liking him or even accepting him personally in the smallest degree.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, feeling like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "I'll reimburse you for the call, of course. Just tell me how much--"

"Nonsense," Gram barked, waving one hand dismissively. "I don't begrudge you--or him--the price of a phone call." She paused, then added, "especially on his birthday."

"Thank you," she replied simply, not knowing what else to say. 

"Do I seem so much of an ogre?" Gram asked suddenly, arching her silver eyebrows questioningly, and Isabel lifted one corner of her mouth.

"When it comes to Mike you do," she replied honestly. She still felt a tiny flicker of resentment when she thought of how Gram had tried to force her to choose between them, and she doubted she'd ever completely forget the pain that situation had caused her.

Gram let out a decidedly unladylike snort and dropped her gaze to the floor, staring at it in silence for a long moment before she looked up at Isabel again. "You have no need to fear that I will come between you again," she said at last. "Not while he treats you as I feel you deserve to be treated. I confess he is not the young man I should wish for you, but it appears your judgment in this matter was wiser than mine, and I will not come between you. Especially during the holidays. You may leave now."

"W-what do you mean?" Isabel gasped, scarcely daring to hope she was interpreting correctly.

"I _mean_ , you silly child, it is still early enough in the evening that if you depart now, you will be able to join the party and spend a few hours of his birthday with him, and all day of yours as well," Gram explained in a tone that implied this all seemed perfectly reasonable to her and she couldn't understand why Isabel was standing there gaping at her like a drooling idiot.

"But--but what about _you_ \--?"

Another dismissive wave. "You've been here since before Christmas."

"I thought you wanted me to be here on my birthday--" A faint bloom of hope was beginning to spread in her chest, but she wasn't about to rejoice yet; she'd feel guilty about abandoning her grandmother earlier than planned...but...

"You're in love, and you miss your young man," Gram stated as if Isabel weren't aware of it herself. "And there is nothing so annoying to me as a mopey child, which is what you'd be if I insisted on holding you here for the next four days."

Isabel opened her mouth to protest, but the hint of a smile in Gram's eyes abruptly stopped her, letting her know Gram was, in her own way, teasing.

"Have a safe trip home, Mary Isabel," she added quietly, and it wasn't until Isabel was already packed, out the door and on the road that the full implication of those words sank in.

~*~*~ 

The one good thing about the enforced absence, Isabel thought as she accelerated slightly in hopes of paring a few minutes off the just-over-an-hour-hour drive, was that it had given her time to think _and_ given her a new perspective on things. If she had harbored any doubts about her feelings for Mike, they were erased by the empty longing she'd felt the entire time she was gone; she hadn't thought she was capable of missing someone so much.

She'd also given a great deal more thought to the question of intimacy she'd been wrestling with lately. Mike had said that when they had sex for the first time was entirely up to her, and she knew he meant it; he'd wait--perhaps not _patiently_ but he'd wait until they were married if that's what she wanted.

But that wasn't what she wanted.

The truth was, she wanted _him_ ; she wanted to have sex with him despite her overwhelming ignorance on the subject and her lingering fears. She knew about the mechanics of it, of course, all the facts of what happened and the risk of pregnancy. All the technical information. But she didn't know what the _act_ was really like except for what little previews the limited sessions she enjoyed with Mike gave her.

For years, she'd been terrified by Gram's horrific descriptions, convinced that she was going to end up split in two, awash in a river of blood--and that was if the man was "kind!" And of course, Mags hadn't been any help, being more inexperienced and possessed of even less knowledge on the subject--and the idea that there was someone who was more inexperienced than she was amused Isabel to no end. Only her talks with Micky and Mike had given her any comfort whatsoever--that, and her absolute trust in Mike.

Now she knew she was ready to commit to him completely, to the man who was her first true love, soon to be her first lover.

The only question now was when?

~*~*~ 

The storm rolled in when she was less than thirty miles from home, thunder and lightning clashing in the night sky overhead as she sped down the highway, hoping the rain wouldn't start until she was safe at home.

No such luck. Five minutes later, a heavy rain began to fall, obscuring her vision out the windshield, and she silently cursed her luck; if it got much worse, she'd have to pull off and wait for it to pass, which would eat into her precious time.

But she was determined not to give up unless she absolutely had to, resorting to slowing down her speed considerably, but still ploughing ahead through the storm. Finally--after what seemed like hours later--she pulled into her driveway; the rain was still pouring down, and if she hadn't needed the contents of her luggage, she would've left her two bags in the car. But she was obliged to run to the back of the car as the cold rain soaked her shoes, hair and clothes, pop the trunk and grab them, making a mad dash to her front porch before she could get even more drenched than she already was. 

Dumping the bags unceremoniously next to her, she scrambled to find the right key on her keyring, her wet fingers fumbling, nearly causing her to drop it twice. Finally she located the house key, leaned forward to insert it--and abruptly discovered by the obvious lack of resistance in the lock that the door was already open. And since Mags had gone to visit her older sister Enola for the holidays as well...

Her heart leaped into her throat as her mind filled with images of robbers invading her home, stealing what few valuables she possessed, but after she'd quelled her initial reaction to run screaming for the police and thought rationally about it, she realized that there was no sign of a break-in. Neither the lock nor the door were scarred, which meant that either the burglar had been an excellent lock-pick--or whoever had been in there had his own key.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned the knob and walked in, fairly certain that Mike had simply forgotten to lock the door back when he left the last time. Granted, it was unusual for him to be so careless, but it was entirely possible. Pausing only to drag her luggage just inside the doorway and to strip off her wet shoes and socks, she wandered into her darkened living room, hoping she didn't step on either of the cats before she reached the nearest lamp. Humming softly under her breath, she reached up to begin unbuttoning her shirt, intent on getting out of her dripping clothes, hearing the echo of Gram's voice warning about catching her death if she didn't-- 

"Welcome home."

An obscenity burst out of her mouth before she could censor it as she whirled around, frantically searching for the source of that unexpected voice, her eyes wild with fright. Quiet--and all too familiar--laughter floated to her from near the beachside door, and a moment later, she saw a tall, lanky figure emerge from the shadows, silhouetted against the back bay window.

"Mike! You scared the sh--" She cut herself off, seething at him for frightening her like that. She hadn't expected him to be here--not when there was supposed to be a birthday party for him going on next door! "You scared me," she added in a calmer tone, pressing one hand to her chest as if that would somehow still her racing heart.

"Sorry." Even though she couldn't see his face in the darkness, she could tell by his tone that he didn't mean it; he was too busy laughing at her to be truly regretful.

"No, you're not," she grumbled.

"Are you gonna stand there and gripe at me all night, or are you gonna get over here and show me how much you missed me?"

"Arrogant beast," she retorted, but she was smiling--and already hurrying to him. "I'm wet," she warned, pausing before moving any nearer, but he simply shrugged and, gathering her in his arms, pulled her close. "What're you doing _here_ anyway? I thought I'd find you next door," she said as she snuggled against him.

"Too loud and too crowded," he replied, bending to kiss the top of her head.

"And?" she asked archly, tilting her chin back to she could look up at him.

"Are you fishin, little girl?" he teased.

"Of course," she answered promptly, flashing a saucy smile. "I've been gone over a week, and I've just walked in much earlier than expected. The least you could do is tell me how much you missed me." 

For a response, he said nothing, merely cupped her face in both hands and pulled her into a lingering kiss, letting her feel the welcome in his warm, soft lips, letting her feel the longing in the taut lines of his body as she pressed against him.

"Does that tell you anything?" he asked when he released her again.

"Oh, yes..."

It told her more than he realized. Not too long ago, she'd been wondering when they would finally consummate their relationship, and she had her answer.

Now.

Gazing up at him somberly, she reached out and caught his hand, lacing her fingers with his and pulling a little. To her surprise, he dug in his heels, not budging an inch, and she turned back, giving him a questioning look.

"Where're we goin?" he asked, and she tossed him an ironic smile. 

"Do you really have to ask?"

He fell silent, and for one horrible, eternal instant, she was terrified he was going to reject her offer.

"Are you sure--?"

"Of course."

She rarely if ever acted on impulse, especially when it came to important decisions like this one, and he knew that. Apparently he remembered, because _this_ time when she tugged on his hand, leading him to the bedroom, he followed.

~*~*~ 

Rain pattering rhythmically on the roof was the only sound in the room as they stood watching each other in the darkness; she couldn't see well enough to make out his expression--until he moved to her nightstand and flipped on the lamp. She stared at him, wide-eyed with alarm, uncertain if she wanted the light and what it would allow him to see. Her consternation must have shown on her face, because he reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm, giving her a tiny, reassuring smile.

"No secrets," he murmured, caressing her peach-soft skin with his thumb.

She nodded, managing a watery smile in return, and he inclined his head slightly, his expression reflecting his concern.

"You can change your mind," he reminded her quietly. "This is _your_ call--"

"No," she shook her head quickly, vehemently. "No, I want this. I want _you_."

She'd never been so blunt before, and she saw him visibly react, catching his breath, his dark eyes smoldering; she could scarcely believe she'd said it herself, but they were on the verge of sharing one of the most profound bonds two people could share, baring their hearts and souls as well as their bodies. He was right: there was no point in trying to keep any secrets. Not now. Not anymore.

Without another word, he moved over to the bed and turned back the covers while she stood and watched, clasping her hands together tightly, her stomach clenching as she waited for him to finish; with his usual meticulous thoroughness--how he shared a room with Micky without going insane was beyond her, she thought idly--he folded the sheets back neatly at the foot of the bed and replaced the pillows only after giving them a brief fluffing.

Capturing her hands in both his own, he sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her forward until she stood between his knees, giving her the height advantage for once. He slipped his arms around her waist, resting his head on her chest, and she threaded her fingers through the dark waves of his hair.

He tilted his face up to look at her, and she leaned down to brush a light kiss across his forehead, then his lips, but that wasn't enough for him; his hands langorously roamed her back as he deepened the kiss, tasting and exploring her mouth thoroughly, and her knees treacherously threatened to collapse beneath her. One kiss flowed into another, heightening the tension between them, and she expected him to pull her onto the bed with him, but he didn't. Instead, he guided her to his lap, and she perched nervously there, wondering what he would do next.

She didn't have long to wait.

Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, he reached up and smoothed her hair back, then sought out all the sensitive spots he'd mapped out on the tender skin of her throat; homing in with an accuracy born of practice, he sent shivers skittering down her spine with every caress of his tongue on her neck, and she found herself relaxing in his arms, the desire growing within her gradually overcoming her residual nervousness.

Wanting to give as good as she was getting, she leaned down and nibbled a certain spot just above that mole on the left side of his neck, gratified to hear his sharp intake of breath, to feel his fingers tighten their grip for an instant. She tugged lightly on his earlobe, traced the outline of his ear with her teeth and tongue, and then she suddenly became aware that he was unbuttoning her black cotton shirt with his free hand. He moved slowly, giving her plenty of time to protest; her breath caught in her throat, which had suddenly gone dry as dust, but she didn't move to stop him--she didn't _want_ to stop him--and he continued until her shirt hung open all the way down.

Slipping his hands beneath the hem, he caressed her bare back and stomach; it was nothing he hadn't done before, but the difference this time was the context--the unspoken line was now erased--and the fact that every other time she'd allowed this move, she'd been wearing a bra. This time-- _of all times_ , she thought with a silent, amused snort--she was not. She was small enough to be able to go without one if she liked, and she frequently did when she was at home alone. Knowing she had a long drive ahead of her, she'd made herself as comfortable as possible before leaving Gram's house, and now...Well, she had inadvertently made things easier for him!

Her breathing hitched again when he slid his hand up and parted the folds of her shirt, pushing it partly off her shoulders, leaving her bare to his view for the first time. Instinctively, she raised her arm as if to shield herself, but he grasped her wrist lightly, lowering it again; she felt heat stinging her cheeks, and she had to resist the urge to squirm with embarrassment as he looked at her. 

What if she was odd-looking in some way? What if she was too small? What if--?

Releasing her wrist, he cupped her breast, his slender fingers molding to its shape, caressing the pale, delicate skin--and making her forget all the "what-ifs" in the process. She clutched his shoulder, feeling well beyond her depth now; they'd never gone this far before, and while she knew they were about to go farther still, she was still adjusting to the novelty of it all, of his touch on her bare skin, of revealing herself. A sudden burst of nervousness flared within her, and she considered asking him to stop--just for a moment--and then he bent his head and drew one hardened nipple into his mouth, and she gasped aloud at the lightning bolt of pure raw passion that streaked through her, brought on by the exquisite new sensation.

Her fingers dug into his back as she gave herself over to the keen tension he was creating within her, and when she felt him smoothing the shirt down her arms, she shrugged out of it eagerly, finding it too hot, too confining. He gathered her in his arms, lifting her up and easing her onto the bed, propped up against the pillows; she held out her arms to him, and he settled next to her, surprise flitting across his features when she captured his face between her hands and pulled him into a hungry kiss, unbottling all the pent-up longing she'd felt and had to repress--but no longer. She was free to act on her urges, her desires, and that freedom was definitely going to her head. Her logical mind was receding, allowing instinct to take over; despite her lack of experience in this realm of the senses, she knew what she wanted, and she began to take steps to get it.

Her fingers shook as she tugged the ends of his shirt free of his trousers, then began unfastening the buttons as well, but they functioned well enough to get the job done, and in a matter of moments, his shirt had joined hers on the floor, but she hadn't the nerve to continue.

He, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

"Ought to get you out of these wet clothes," he murmured as he nuzzled her ear. "You'll catch a cold."

"You sound like my grandmother," she joked, hoping her voice didn't sound as tremulous to him as it did to her.

He laughed softly but didn't reply as he began to ease the rest of her clothes off her body, and she covered her face with her hands, both to hide the bright crimson blush she knew was staining her cheeks and to avoid seeing his reaction. What if she wasn't as pretty as the other girls he'd been with? She had no idea how she'd rate in comparison. What if she wasn't thin enough? What if she was too thin? What if she was shaped funny in some way and she didn't know it, and he'd be turned off? What if she was too pale? What if he thought she was hideous--?

She flinched, startled by the first touch of his hand on her bare skin, but she quickly relaxed as he caressed her, his gentle fingers exploring her slowly and thoroughly as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her through touch alone. Hazarding a peek, she peered between her fingers to see him following the progress of his hands with an intent gaze as if he were completely absorbed in what he was doing; there was, she noticed with satisfaction, an immistakable light of passion smoldering in his dark eyes, which relieved her to no end. But to take without giving--that went against her nature, and she didn't want to be a passive lover.

"I want to please you too," she whispered as she uncovered her face at last, deciding that total honesty was the best approach in this situation. "But I don't know what to do."

"What do you _want_ to do?" He lay on his side, facing her, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched her. "As long as it doesn't hurt, you can't do anything wrong."

Hesitantly, she reached out with one hand, tracing his features with a delicate touch. The soft glow of the lamp cast most of his face in shadow, giving it an even more somber aspect; for one moment, she looked at him and felt as if she'd never really seen him before, as if she'd somehow taken everything about him for granted, and she wanted to explore the details now. He closed his eyes as she lightly skimmed her fingertips along his jawline and down the length of his nose, as she smoothed his dark eyebrows, traced his lips as they curved in a slight smile.

But that wasn't quite enough. She twined her arms around him and pressed herself close. Suddenly everything was a sensual delight--the rough brush of his jeans against her bare legs; the heady new sensation of skin-on-skin; his soft sounds of pleasure as she caressed him, leisurely running her flattened palms down his chest and trailing her fingers through the patch of tummy fuzz that had been haunting her memory for weeks. Emboldened, she shifted position so that her lips could follow the path her hands had already wandered. She could feel his body responding to her touch, and it filled her with a sense of power she wished she knew how to use fully. Time, she thought with a wistful sigh. Time and practice. And then all thought fled as he took charge again, and she soon found herself gasping and writhing beneath his ministering hands, her desire burning ever hotter. She wanted--something--but what--?

He began to move down, and she sprang upright, staring at him, her eyes wide and round.

"What are you doing?" she asked shakily.

"Showin you what to expect," he replied, glancing up at her with an amused smile. "Relax."

"Easy for you to say," she retorted, but she lay down again--and then immediately had to muffle a startled gasp when he found that most sensitive of spots.

The pleasure/pain tension that had been building within her coiled ever tighter, and she felt as if she were striving for some nameless, elusive goal dancing just beyond her reach--until the world shattered around her, and she clamped down on her lower lip to hold back the wordless exclamation that rose in her throat as she collapsed, limp and languid while the shockwaves echoed through her, slowly fading. Her breathing was shallow, and her heart raced as her mind sent out nothing but white static.

"I knew you weren't the screamer type," he remarked, and she had to pry her heavy-lidded eyes open, struggling to focus on his words even though she could tell from his tone that he was teasing her. "But it's okay to make _some_ noise, Mary-belle. It'd let me know I'm on the right track."

"Oh...Sorry..." she mumbled, scarcely aware of what she was saying at the moment.

"We'll talk about it later," he said, an undercurrent of laughter in his voice; she nodded and closed her eyes again, aware of the movement of the mattress beneath her, of the sudden loss of his warm presence as he rolled away from her, of the rustle of fabric, of the rummaging sounds coming from the nightstand--and of what those noises meant. When he returned to her, not only would he be as naked as she was--and that thought sent a flood of heat rushing along every nerve-ending in her body--but the method of protection they'd agreed on would no doubt be in place, which was just as well since she already knew she wasn't ready to have anything to do with it yet. She was taking enough big steps for one night; some things would just have to wait!

But that also meant The Moment would soon be at hand, and while part of her wanted to shout, "now, _now_ , NOW!", another part of her was petrified she'd mess up somehow. She still didn't know what she was doing; what if she ruined the whole experience for both of them?

Then he kissed her neck again, and her eyes flew open wide, her heart nearly bursting through the walls of her chest at the slight contact.

"What in the world--?" she gasped, dumbfounded. She'd assumed after that incredible detonation she'd just experienced, she'd be less responsive and that her desire would have abated some, but apparently not!

"You'll be more sensitive all over for a while," he explained, caressing her breasts to illustrate his point; a bolt of liquid heat instantly pooled in her stomach and plunged straight down. "It helps," he added blandly, one of the more prodigious pieces of understatement he'd ever made.

This time, she could barely keep still while he covered her body with light nibbles, kisses and caresses, stoking her passion to a fever-pitch once more until she felt she was going out of her mind with pleasure. When he finally moved to settle himself in the cradle of her thighs, she received him eagerly, wrapping her arms and legs around him, more than ready to become one with him at last. He entered her slowly at first, giving her time to adjust, but she couldn't help sucking in a sharp breath at the unfamiliar invasion; it wasn't painful, really--more of a discomfort than anything else--but still it felt very odd...good in a way, but odd...

He stopped, lightly touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers to get her attention, and she opened her eyes, looking a question at him when she read the concern in his face.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded--she wasn't about to turn back now!--and in response, he bent his head, distracting her with a deep and complicated kiss as he pushed deeper; her nails dug into his back, her body tensing at the slight flicker of pain she felt now, but it was fleeting, and she soon forgot it as the pleasure began to build within her once more. 

"Mine..." His voice was black velvet against her ear as he gathered her in an unexpectedly tight embrace. "You're mine now." 

"Yes...Always..." She tightened her arms around him, pulling him close, feeling as if she wanted to slip inside his skin. "And you're mine."

"Always..."

Bracing himself on one arm, he placed his free hand on her hip, nudging her away as he withdrew slightly, then pulling her back again, showing her what to do and setting a slow, easy rhythm while waiting for her to match it--which, to her delighted surprise, she did rather quickly. And from there, instinct took over as their bodies responded to the ancient, primal dance; she became a creature of emotion and passion, striving for that exquisite pinnacle once more, unable to stop herself from crying out his name when the explosion burst deep within, shaking her with even more force than before. Moments later, she felt him follow her over the edge, and they collapsed together, panting and sweat-soaked, but sated.

Basking in the pleasant, low hum that reverberated throughout her body, she was content to lie there forever, not moving an inch; indeed, she didn't know when she'd be capable of movement again, and she wasn't in a hurry to find out. Mike rolled away from her, and although she didn't open her eyes, she frowned slightly, wanting to protest but feeling as if she didn't have the energy to force the words out. When he finally returned, he brought the sheets with him, tucking her snugly under the covers, and she smiled at the thoughtful gesture.

"Happy birthday," she murmured as soon as she found her voice again.

"That's some present you just gave me," he replied quietly, his expression deadly serious as he smoothed a stray tendril of hair out of her face with gentle fingers. "Any regrets?"

"None." She opened her eyes and gave him a steady, reassuring look to emphasize her sincerity. "No matter what happens, I'll never regret this."

A slight smile curved his lips as he leaned over and lightly rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. "Good." He glanced over at the clock on her nightstand, and his smile broadened. "We've been at this a while. It's _your_ birthday now."

"Hhhmmm..." She purred, awash in pure feminine satisfaction. "Then happy birthday to me too."

He laughed outright at that and, wrapping both arms around her, rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She sighed with quiet contentment as she nestled closer, burying her face against his neck, breathing in his warm scent; he curved one arm around her shoulders and rested his free hand on her arm which she had draped across him. 

"How do you feel?" he asked after a moment.

"Like the top of my head's been torn off," she murmured sleepily. 

"But you're okay?" he persisted, and despite the fact that all she wanted to do was doze off, she peeled her eyes open again and struggled to find the words that would give him the assurance he obviously needed; apparently when he told her the experience would be as nerve-wracking for him as for her, he hadn't been joking. "You're not in pain or freaked out or--"

"It hurt for like two seconds, and I can already tell I'm going to be sore tomorrow, but I don't care," she answered with complete honesty. "The pain didn't last, and the pleasure was definitely worth it." She paused, then reached up to caress his cheek as she added softly, "I feel so close to you right now. I didn't realize how much this would change things, but...but it has. It's changed everything and nothing. I mean, I still feel the same way about you, but--"

"But it feels like it's even stronger now," he finished, and she nodded.

"Exactly." Apprehension made her hesitate a moment before continuing, but her need to know was too strong for her to keep silent. "Did you enjoy it at all?" she asked shyly. "I mean, I know it couldn't have been too great for you because I don't know what I'm doing, but..." She let her words trail off when she noticed the incredulous look he was giving her. "What?" she asked, bewildered. 

"The girl brings me to my knees and then asks if I enjoyed it." He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in amazement. "I don't care if you don't know what you're doin. You can have all the technical know-how in the world, and it still wouldn't be as good as what we just shared if there's no emotion involved. That's the difference between havin sex and makin love. Besides, you'll figure it out--and for someone who's so danged inexperienced, you sure got good instincts."

"Really?" She smiled, pleased by the compliment.

"Really." He paused, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he added, "All you need is practice."

"Oh, is _that_ all?" she replied archly, raising one eyebrow at him.

"Yep. Lots and lots of practice."

Releasing a mock sigh, she settled in his arms again. "Well, if I _must_..."

Laughing quietly, he gave her a brief, tight squeeze, then relaxed his hold on her. At first, he stroked her arm soothingly, but the idle motion of his fingers gradually grew slower and slower until it stopped altogether, and within a matter of moments, she could tell by his even breathing that he'd fallen asleep.

Outside, the thunderstorm died down to a gentle shower as she lay safe and secure in her lover's arms, and she knew that for the rest of her life, happiness would sound like the steady patter of rain on the roof.

~*~*~ 

The title comes from a Nez tune on one of the First National Band Albums called "Tengo Amore." In context: "I will spend my life with you/ Here in your arms/ Holding you without speaking/ Watching our love/ Making shadows on the ceiling/ Slowly melting into oneness."


End file.
